


Early Morning in Baker Street

by IntrovertedbutBooksmart



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: :O, Attempted very poorly in old English ┐(￣ヮ￣)┌, Calm before the storm?, Doctor Who References, Jim where'd you come from?, John is a Very Good Doctor, M/M, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Mycroft you creeper, No Mary, POV Third Person, Post-Season/Series 03, Quiet, Sherlock Needs A Hug, Sherlock Plays the Violin, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, insomniac sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 12:53:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8286568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntrovertedbutBooksmart/pseuds/IntrovertedbutBooksmart
Summary: All seems calm and still at 221 Baker Street. However, as the night ages on, a new kind of threat seems to take grasp stealthily--Can Sherlock put a quick stopper to the bottle of havoc without anyone realizing it?





	

**Author's Note:**

> HONESTLY I have no idea where this came from. It's actually 2:30 AM right now. So I guess that's about the time of this, then? Post Season 3 AU; Mary doesn't exist for John.

  **SHERLOCK** couldn't sleep, simply put.

  Be it a "bump in the night," or perhaps a dull ache in his shoulder from a rather recent gunshot wound, something refused to let his mind rest. Perhaps, it was the odd prickle here and there of being watched?

  Sherlock Holmes was no fool-- it had taken him no more than ten minutes to track down Mycroft's bugs. It hadn't been his brother's constant meddling that disturbed him- indeed not! Rather, it felt more sinister. A constant tingling of urgency, of warning. He had, multiple times, searched the entirety of his flat for an unknown camera of Mycroft's. Alas, he came empty-handed.

  So he simply ignored the feeling, putting it aside as unimportant. 

  And every time sleep crept to the very edges of his vision, he focused on embracing it. However, just when merciful unconscious leaked towards his tired mind, it slipped from his grasp and landed just outside of his own reach. Thoroughly vexxed with his own lack of unconsciousness, he stood from the bed, checking his mobile for time.

   **2:31 AM**

Exhausted, but unable to slip into sleep, Holmes left his rather messy room to an even messier kitchen. On every surface lay test tubes, beakers, microscopes and their slides, notes, empty cups of tea, and other miscellaneous objects of interest. In the fridge sat neatly marked and labelled, by John's request, containers of assorted human body parts and organs.

  Slowly, so as to not creak a board, Holmes made his way to the other side of the flat, where sound was muffled for the bedrooms of 221 A and B. There, he heard it:

   _creak..._

  Silent, almost too light to hear, slow footfalls made their way towards Holmes, until they stopped several feet behind the tall figure. He didn't spare a glance to the silhouette behind him. He could simply  _feel_ the looming presence of the shorter man; the man he'd thought to be dead.

  "Did you miss me?"

  " 'Miss' would be an erroneous term. I'd say I only miss your absenteeism attitude."

  Moriarty's grin was smug. "And no tea this time? What a shame. Not even a 'Welcome back.' "

  Holmes raised an eyebrow, eyes piercing and cold, face seemingly shifted into an expressionless mask. Voice dangerously low yet soft, for resentment of waking John, he replied, "I hadn't been one to think you'd wish for a surprise party."

  "And certainly not. You've been working quite a lot more behind the lines these last two years. Almost tore down the entire network." Moriarty began to taunt in that sing-song sarcastic voice of his. Gloatingly, he said, "Oh, I am simply excited, dare I say, for your downfall. The 'Great Sherlock Holmes,' killed in his most pitiful moment! Followed by his only friend, poor John Wa-"

   _Crack!_

  And Moriarty practically flew backwards, stumbling into the back of Sherlock's chair. Blood covered his pale fist, though not his own, and Holmes straightened. Moriarty's nose, clearly broken, gushed blood across his face, some leaking onto the chair and flooring.

  "And dare I say, if you are to ever make a threat to Dr. John Watson ever again, you shall find a  _real_ bullet implanted in your pitiful skull."

  Rather than responding, Moriarty looked amused. He chuckled, even. "Oh, Holmes, you are so boring! In the side of the Angles, and cliche you are about it as well!" His voice rose, which meant that he either wished for the other to awaken, or he was getting careless. "To ever think you a worthy opponent? Pah! We've been over this once before, Holmes! We are nothing alike, you and I!"

  And with that, the man left, and Sherlock listened closely for the click of the doorknob, which resonated upatairs quietly. And slowly, Holmes walked down the dark hall towards the room in which John resided. Yes-- the man must've been awake. He was breathing quicker, as if ready for a sort of combat. Whether he had woken from the argument or from his own PTSD, Holmes didn't know.

  When he believed his flatmate to be asleep once again, Holmes stealthily crept back down towards the main room, where a neglected pool of Moriarty's blood lay. Sherlock stared at the puddle for a moment, but then went on to find his violin.

  The tune he played was neither happy nor sad; but resonated softly with emotion throughout 221 Baker Street. The tune was calm enough to blend with the outside's wind and rain, only lulling the two other occupants of 221 Baker Street into a deeper sleep.

  And there, Holmes played for the rest of the morning until a gentle sleep caressed his mind and laced throughout his thought. Only then did he place the violin away to sit and rest until the early rays of young sunlight.

**Author's Note:**

> I finished this at 4 AM. Should I continue this? And please, if you enjoyed, leave a Kudos! Didn't enjoy? That's fine! Feel free to leave criticism in the comments below. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Goodnight.


End file.
